Page 23 of The Summer We Started Over

“Do you have a problem with that? If no one buys them, you’ll still have them, right?”

Eddie could tell he was intrigued but also worried. Wanting to give him space, she moved away from his desk toward the window with light shining in between the stacks of books. From here she could see the paddock and the barn.

“It’s a nice idea, Eddie,” William said at last.

“Think of all the space,” Eddie said, pressing her point. “Dad, imagine it. We could put all those self-help books in the barn.”

“Those self-help books were your mother’s.” William nodded sagely. “They can go.”

Eddie smiled. “Yes, and her books on knitting, and potting, and beekeeping, and playing the guitar.”

William reminisced, “She had so much enthusiasm for her new hobbies. For the first few weeks. Then she’d lose interest. Remember when I said I was glad she hadn’t tried to take up the piano?”

Eddie’s smile turned bittersweet. “She got really mad at you. I remember that well.” Quickly, while she had her father’s attention, she said, “Look, Dad, you have so many duplicates.”

William nodded. “True, but in many cases they’re different editions. I like the different covers, and introductory essays. You know, it’s possible to tell a lot about how our culture has changed by reading the introductions to various novels.”

“I understand,” Eddie said, softly, calmly. “But, for instance, lookat all your James Fenimore Cooper books. They take up three long shelves.”

“Oh, no. The Coopers stay.” William was firm. “Cooper wrote his rather romantic novels in the early eighteen hundreds, not long after Wordsworth, in England, wrote his poetry.”

“But look at this.” Eddie carefully removed from the shelf an old paperback edition that had come apart. Clumps of pages fell out. She caught them, treating them reverently, and held them toward her father.

“Um, have I made any notes in the margins?” William asked.

Eddie looked. “No.” She pulled out another book. “I’m sure you’re not including Hawthorne in your book.”

William shook his head. “He was an awful man. He hated women. I have only kept his books because of the time in which he wrote. Although…I should keep one set because they are part of the literary canon…”

Eddie quickly scanned the shelves and removed five duplicate copies of several Hawthorne novels. She pushed the remaining books together and pointed to the empty space on the shelf.

“Voilà!” she said, excited. “Now you can shelve your books by Catharine Maria Sedgwick and the other early American female writers.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea.” William started to continue but stalled. “But we don’t have any shelves in the barn.”

“Then we’ll have some built!” Eddie countered, full of delight. She was a genius, she absolutely was.

“Yes, of course,” her father agreed. “Let’s ask Jeff Jefferson to help us. I’ve heard he’s a good carpenter and a good guy. Do you think we could get Jeff to build them?”

“Oh, um, well.” Eddie hadn’t been prepared for this suggestion. Her father had met Jeff when she and Jeff were dating. He’d liked Jeff, and Eddie wanted her father to be comfortable about moving the books. It wasn’t about her need to see Jeff. Really.

“You know what? I’ll call him right now.”

—

In her shop, Barrett sat on her tall stool behind the counter, working on her laptop. Her bookkeeping worksheets and all the other business records were in place. She needed to work on her social media and publicity. She had already made accounts at Instagram, Facebook, and Pinterest. She scrolled through her phone to find the photos of her merchandise she wanted to spotlight. She started with the jewelry, editing her photos, cropping them and using filters to highlight.

She was concentrating on a silver and labradorite necklace when someone pounded on the door. Glancing up, she could tell that the person was male, so it wasn’t her sister, just some impatient guy who couldn’t be bothered to read her sign plastered across the top of her window saying:Opening May 29.

She ignored him.

The pounding continued. It was irritating.

Barrett slid off her high stool, walked across her shop, and opened the door. “Can’t you read?”

Immediately, she wished she hadn’t been so shrewish. The guy was about her age, tall and handsome, with thick blond hair and blue eyes. Her mind said:Go away!Her body said:Please come in.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but I just landed on the island and it’s my sister’s birthday today and if I don’t take her a present, she’ll never let me forget it.” The way he talked, dressed, and looked told her this guy was from money.

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